Filthy Beautiful Boy
by SNight
Summary: When wealthy, enigmatic club owner, Christian Grey, is arrested for attempted murder, Anastasia Steele is hired to assist with his case. It's a partnership that will draw her into his dark, tangled world and enslave her to his deepest desires...
1. Chapter 1

Hi Everyone! Like any story, this idea started with a series of "What ifs?" What if Christian's mother hadn't died? What if he'd never been adopted, and he'd never met Mrs. Robinson? What if he'd never known love….?

This is my first attempt at FanFic, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

xoxo,

Sophie

 **Chat with me on Facebook:** sophienightauthor

 _Inspiration_

 **Songs:** "Renegades" by X Ambassadors and "Heathens" by Suicide Squad

CHAPTER ONE

"Miss Steele."

My boss's voice cuts through my concentration, and I'm forced to look up from the countless depositions I'd been sifting through. He walks up to my cubicle and drops a thick manila file on my desk.

Nathan Emery most beautiful attorney in the Seattle area. He's also the best. For those two reasons alone, every student studying criminal justice at Washington State would kill for a position here. My degree is in english lit, but I have something the others don't. A connection to one of the most powerful media tycoons in the Seattle area. One word and the job was mine.

"I need you to handle the discovery on this case." He points at the file. "I need this for tomorrow's meeting."

"I'm just an assistant. I really don't think-"

He cuts me off-something he does frequently—by holding his hand up. "I just need you to go to the King County Correctional Facility and get the initial interview from Mr. Grey."

I shake my head. "I haven't even had time to read his file."

"No need. In the folder, you'll see I've drawn up a list of questions. It's pretty straight forward." He glances at his Rolex. "You should leave now. Visiting hours are over in two hours." He turns to walk away, but stops himself. "Oh, and this is a huge case, so don't fuck it up," he adds.

I blink up at him, my heart pounding. If the case is such a big deal, then why the hell is he sending me? But I can't say that, so I just nod and smile. "Got it."

Standing, I grab the file and gather it against my chest with one arm while straightening my faded black pencil skirt with the other. I teeter a little, and my ankle twists, but I catch myself before I fall. Even in borrowed kitten heels, I'm hopeless. If only I could wear jeans and tennies to the office, I'd be golden.

As soon as Mr. Emery is back in his office and out of earshot, my co-worker, Jamie, pops her head up over the cubicle partition. "Holy shit, tell me he didn't just give you the Grey case. I've been begging him all week for that one."

I smile at her. She has beautiful golden brown hair, olive skin and bright green eyes. In the two weeks I've been here, she's the only person who's said more than three words to me.

I laugh. "God, why?"

She lifts a perfectly manicured brow. "Are you kidding me? Christian Grey? The guy is gorgeous. Like, underwear model gorgeous. Don't you ever read the gossip sites?"

Out of nowhere, I suddenly remember my car, Wanda, is out of commision. "Shit, I don't have a car. I just remembered, the Beetle blew up on my way home last night." Flames are not what you want to see shooting out of an engine. I glance at the clock on the wall. "Maybe if I hurry I can catch the metro."

"Hey, why don't I take you?" Jamie smiles. "You'll get there faster."

"That would be awesome." I pause, and narrow my eyes at her. "Wait, is this about the guy I'm about to go interview?"

"Oh, come on! You aren't seriously going to keep him all to yourself! Think of it this way: you need a ride, and I need something to get me through yet another lonely night with my cat."

"You do make a strong case," I tease.

"Sweet." She jumps up and claps her hands. "Let me just go tell Mr. Emery I'm leaving. I'll meet you downstairs."

I grab my purse and sling it over my shoulder. Five minutes later, we're climbing into Jamie's silver Lexus, peeling out of the parking structure with lightning speed. I grip the door handle and struggle to hold down my breakfast.

"Remind me to take the bus next time," I groan. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Jamie laughs. "It's just nerves."

"Yeah, you know, right before I left Mr. Emery said-and I quote-'don't fuck up.' So, of course, that's all I can think about now. No pressure at all."

"Girl, you've got this. Mr. Emery has the questions all written out. Just stick to the script." She lifts a finger. "But I will give you one piece of advice. Try not to spontaneously orgasm in Grey's presence. Failing that, you'll be fine."

"Ha. Funny. Felons don't really do it for me, so I think I'm in the clear."

"He hasn't been tried yet, so he isn't a felon. And as soon as his bail is set, he's going to bond out anyway. The guy is stupid rich."

"Rich, how?"

She shrugs. "He owns a club downtown, and a bunch of other stuff. I guess he grew up really poor or something, then came into some money. I'm not exactly sure."

"Came into some money. That doesn't sound suspicious at all." I sigh. "Doesn't matter, anyway. Bad boys aren't really my thing. I'm more into the emo, artsy type."

"Wow, no bad boys in your squeaky clean past? Girl, you have no idea what you're missing."

We both laugh, and the topic shifts to how insanely hot Mr. Emery is and whether or not he's dating anyone. We tick three women off as possibilities, including one pretty little intern at the office.

Our destination is only a fifteen-minute drive from downtown, and in the Lexus, we make it there in record time. Jamie pulls up to the curb, and I open the door to get out.

"I'll meet you inside," I say.

"Hey, Ana." Her tone is heavy and it draws my full attention.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I'm serious, keep those panties on. Grey is mine."

I laugh. I'm always laughing with her. "You have nothing to worry about. Grey is not my type."

Outside, it's a typical Seattle morning. Heavy gray clouds drift over the city, and I lament not bringing a jacket. My thin white blouse and black pencil skirt aren't much against the biting cold, but I decide it doesn't matter. I'll be inside soon anyway.

The King County Correctional Facility is a tall white building, and I make my way around to the front entrance. As I walk in, my heels click on the smooth linoleum tiles. I stand in the visitor line and when it's my turn, I step up to the window.

"I'm here to see Christian Grey."

The female corrections officer types his name into the system, then looks up at me. "No visitors. He's on restriction."

I swallow. "I'm on his legal team."

Her gaze drifts down to my borrowed, ill-fitting outfit. She lifts a brow. "Are you on the list?"

Oh, shit. I have no clue.

"Of course I'm on the list," I say with all the confidence I don't have. "Miss Anastasia Steele."

More clicking as she checks the system for my name. I pray she'll find me on the list. I need to get this interview. If I show up at the office empty-handed, I'm not sure how Mr. Emery will react. And I don't want to find out.

She looks up at me, her lips pursed in annoyance. "Identification."

I pull out my driver's license and hand it to her.

She glances at it, then hands it back to me. "Go on through."

Yes. Thank God. Relief washes through me. Someone from the office must have called ahead and added me to the list.

"Thank you," I say, then walk through to the adjoining room. There's an officer waiting for me there. She searches me, my files, my purse. When she's satisfied I'm not carrying any drugs or weapons, she waves me through to a smaller waiting area.

I sit there until a male officer comes to collect me. He leads me down a long, white hallway and through a series of metal doors. Screams echo from somewhere deeper inside the jail, and it sets me on edge. I clutch the folder tighter to my chest.

He stops in front of a door and turns to face me. He's tall, muscular, and there's a harshness in his face that unnerves me a little. The name on his tag reads Sergeant Sullivan.

"Before we go in, a few important safety tips," he says. "No item exchanges. No touching. And it would be best not to look him directly in the eyes."

That last sentence takes a second to sink in.

"I'm sorry." I blink. "Don't look him in the eyes?"

"Grey can spot vulnerability a mile away."

I laugh. "Let me guess; he can also smell fear."

"Yes," he says, completely serious.

"Oh." I sober. "Okay. Thanks for the advice."

"Listen, you look sweet." He smiles tightly. Was it an attempt to set me at ease? If it is, it fails. "But you need to know, Grey is a dangerous man. In the two days he's been here, he's already sent three inmates to the hospital."

I nod and try to look unaffected. But suddenly I feel like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole. Completely out of my depth. "Is that why he's on restriction?"

"No, he's on visitation restriction for refusing to eat. He's in segregation for the fighting."

I clear my throat. "Is it necessary to keep him segregated?" I've read up on isolation in jails and the results were universally negative. Inmates were kept in single cells for twenty-three hours a day with only one hour out for recreation. Many of them either went crazy or lashed out violently. Often both.

"It's for the safety of the general population."

My heart is beating so fast, it feels like it's going to burst out of my chest. "I see. I'm actually just here to ask him a few questions, so..."

Sullivan tips his head in a curt nod and slides a key into the lock, swinging the door wide so I can enter. I step over the metal threshold but my heel catches on the lip, and I stumble over my own stupid feet. I lurch forward and fall hard on my knees. The files in my arms go airborne, then scatter across the cement floor like the debris of a hurricane.

Holy fuck. That hurts.

Pain pierces through my right knee and for a second, I fear I may have done some real damage. But as the sergeant helps me up, the pain ebbs and all that's left is the hot sting of humiliation.

"Thank you," I say as I hurriedly gather up my files. I tuck them haphazardly back into the manila file folder, then slip into the chair across from Mr. Grey.

The papers inside the file are a jumble now, and as I search for that stupid list, I catch the image of an orange jumpsuit in my periphery. Aha, here's the file. I grab a pen from my purse, then set my purse on the floor by my feet. "Mr. Grey, I'm Anastasia Steele, and I'm here to ask you a few questions about your case."

I look up, almost unconsciously, and suck in a shocked breath of air. The man sitting in front of me is gorgeous. He's young, probably not much older than me, unshaven, with disheveled copper colored hair and gray eyes that are flecked with gold.

I blink at him, frozen, as Sullivan's warnings whip around inside my head.

He's dangerous.

Yeah, I can see why. Grey is masculine in a way that instantly awakens the most feminine parts of me. It's a crazy, unfamiliar feeling, and I struggle hard to push it away.

He's leaning back in his chair, all quiet, unaffected confidence, his hands resting on the table in front of him. Thick cuffs encircle his wrists, connected by a short chain that's padlocked to the table.

He's already sent three inmates to the hospital.

How is that even possible? There isn't a scratch on him.

His gaze lingers on me a little too long and I can't help but feel self-conscious. "Can you-" I clear my throat and shift in the plastic chair. "Can you tell me where you were on Friday, February 10th?"

He's looking at me with those enigmatic gray eyes. Under the sharp fluorescent lights, his features are harsh and beautiful. Almost otherworldly. It's surreal.

Several uncomfortable seconds tick by and I'm met only with silence. I glance back down at my paper to avoid the intensity in his eyes. It's not working. I can feel his gaze like a physical touch, brushing across my face and down my neck, over my breasts…

I clear my throat again, and glance around for a bottle of water. I should have brought some with me.

Seconds tick by. When it's obvious he has no intention of answering me, I flick a nervous glance at Sergeant Sullivan.

"He doesn't talk," he says by way of explanation.

"What do you mean he doesn't talk?"

Sullivan shrugs. "He hasn't said a word since he's been here."

"To anyone?"

"Nope."

I turn back to Grey. He's regarding me passively. Though he's chained up, I can't help but feel like he's the one in control. His gaze flicks to the sergeant, his jaw clenched tight. Tension is practically dripping off him in sheets.

I turn back to Sullivan. "Can you give us a few minutes alone?"

His gaze slides to Grey.

"He's chained up," I say before she can refuse. "He can't hurt me. We just need a few minutes."

He purses his lips and I can tell he's not thrilled with the idea. But in the end, he gives in. "Twenty minutes. I'll be right outside."

I smile tightly. "Thanks."

As she leaves, I turn back to Grey. He's staring at me, a faint, barely-there smile touching the edges of his lips. He finds this amusing.

Pulling in a deep breath, I force myself to stare back. It's harder than it should be. It turns out, staring at someone so intensely beautiful isn't my favorite thing-not when that someone is staring back at me, mentally cataloging my every flaw.

"Mr. Grey," I begin. "I was sent here by Mr. Emery to ask you some questions. I'm here to help you. I can't really do that if you're just going to sit there and stare at me."

That garnered a response, at least. He laughed under his breath and shook his head-as though, what, I was lying to him? This guy must have some serious trust issues.

More silence.

"Fine," I say, snapping his case folder closed. "If you won't talk, then I guess I'll be on my way. There are people out there who actually want our help."

My cheeks are flushed hot and I have to force myself not to throw my pen at his too-beautiful face. Now I have to convince Mr. Emery-somehow-that it's not my fault he has to clear his schedule and come back here to interview this guy. That's if he doesn't fire me first.

I move to stand up and Grey flinches. "Wait." He glances down briefly and I can see the war playing out across his face. "What do you want to know?"

His voice is deep, rough, and slides through my veins like hot whiskey. Of course it does. Damn it.

"So you do speak, after all." I relax back into my chair and open the file. "What happened on February 10th?"

"The guy came at me and I put him down. Simple as that."

Simple as that. Wow. Okay.

"It says here that Mr. Hyde had a skull fracture and punctured lung when he was transported to the hospital. And you sustained…" I glance through the file. "No injuries?"

"He had a gun pointed to my head and I reacted."

I scribble that down. "How did the argument start?"

He smoothly dodges my question. "How did you come to work for Mr. Emery?"

I put my pen down and sit back. "Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Answer the question," he commands.

I can't imagine why it matters to him. I'm no one. I'm just the girl taking down his answers to a few very basic questions. But we only have twenty minutes, and I can't waste time arguing.

"My best friend, Kate, got me the job. Mr. Emery is her father's lawyer, and he mentioned he needed an assistant."

His hands clench into fists. "How long have you worked for him?"

I shake my head. "You haven't answered my question. How did the argument start?"

"He showed up at my club, pissed off because I have something he wants. He thought shoving a gun in my face might persuade me to hand it over."

I swallow, trying to envision that moment. "What did he want?"

He lifts a brow, but says nothing. It's an unspoken ultimatum. If I answer his questions and he'll answer mine.

"I've been working at the firm for two weeks," I answer.

"He shouldn't have sent you here."

I stiffen, stung by the razor sharp edge in his voice. "What makes you say that?"

"This is no place for a woman like you."

"A woman like me? You don't even know me."

"I have a talent for reading people." He leans forward, the chains around his wrists dragging across the surface of the table. His scent surrounds me—soap and something else I can't quite pinpoint. I draw in a deep breath. "You're young, naïve. And you've never broken the rules a day in your life. You don't belong in this world, Miss Steele. It's so fucking obvious."

I draw back a little, stung by his harsh appraisal. Naïve. Is that how he sees me? It shouldn't bother me, but for some insane reason it does. "Are you always this concerned about your lawyer's assistants?"

His eyes darken. "No," he says. "Just you."

He's dangerous.

I grip my pen tighter and return my attention to the list of questions in front of me. "What—" I clear my throat again. "What's your history with Mr. Hyde?"

"We were in foster care together."

I'm surprised by that. "So, you've been friends since you were kids?"

"I don't have friends, Miss Steele. I have employees, and I have people who want me dead. There's no in between."

What a horrible way to live. I can't imagine my life without friends or family. I think I'd go crazy. Maybe he has. "What about family?"

He tilts his head down and a muscle begins to tick in his jaw. His hands are balled into fists again, and I can see he's trying to reign in his temper. "I'm done answering questions."

I sit back. What, like I'm questioning him for fun? This is my job. These questions are for his benefit. I'm about to say exactly that when the door opens and Sergeant Sullivan steps into the room. "Time's up."

He walks over and unlocks the chain connecting Grey's wrist restraints to the table. Grey stands, unfurling every delicious inch of his six-foot frame. He owns the space, fills every nook and corner with his quiet presence.

It's clear now how he was able to beat down those men. He's huge and beneath that orange jumper, I suspect he's got some serious muscles.

I shove the file into my purse and stand, smoothing one hand down my skirt. My hand is shaking. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Grey."

His gaze rakes down my body, and I catch something like curiosity in his eyes. "Good day, Miss Steele."

At that point, I turn and practically run from the room.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Two days later, I'm standing on the sidewalk in front of Grey's club, The Red Room, in downtown Seattle, waiting for Mr. Emery-Nathan-to show up for our meeting. We'd decided only yesterday to cease with the formalities and call each other by our first names. I'm still not used to it.

As I sip my venti latte, I wonder what kind of club this is. Glancing up the length of the building, I mentally catalog the club's outward appearance. The building itself is nondescript-several stories high with ornate, turn of the century granite work, black doors, brass handles and windows that look into a large, elegant lobby. It could be anything, though I've noticed the people walking in and out are all coupled up. Through the window I can see them walk up to smooth marble receptionist desk, pause a moment, then continue up a wide, sweeping staircase.

A luxury, membership-only hotel, maybe? That's the only thing that makes sense.

Pulling out my phone, I Google Grey's name. I'd resisted in the two days since meeting him in the jail, but boredom feeds my curiosity and I bend to the temptation.

Several web pages pop up instantly and I sift through them. They're mostly news articles about his many business ventures. This guy owns controlling interest in nearly every high-tech company out there, including a startup that's working on various forms of artificial intelligence. But there's nothing about The Red Room. Online, at least, it doesn't exist.

I stand there for ten more minutes, skimming a few articles about Grey before giving up and glancing at the time. It's four forty and Nathan is ten minutes late. If he hadn't been coming directly from another meeting, I probably would have driven with him. Instead, I'd taken the bus, grabbed a latte, and walked the rest of the way.

I'm about to call him when I hear my name.

"Ana." I turn to see Nathan walking towards me down the sidewalk. He looks decadent, as always, in his fitted Armani suit and shiny black shoes. "Sorry I'm late. I've already texted Grey. Let's go in."

Swiftly, he opens the door and motions me inside. We walk up the receptionist desk and Nathan gives our names to the young woman behind it. She can't be any older than twenty, her red hair pulled up into a sleek ponytail, lips pursed.

"Mr. Emery and Miss Steele to see Mr. Grey."

She checks the screen in front of her. "Yes, Mr. Grey is expecting you." She motions to another young woman, who steps forward. "Rebecca will show you the way."

Rebecca is thin, blonde and looks like she just stepped off the red carpet. Her hair is twisted up into an elegant chignon, and she's wearing a form fitting white skirt and matching blazer. I look homeless next to her, in my simple beige skirt and pale pink blouse, my mousy brown hair brushed straight. Though I was unusually ambitious this morning and put on a hint of eyeshadow and lipstick. Both had likely melted off by now.

Rebecca leads us to the left to the elevator and we step inside. We're whisked up and deposited on the top floor. Rebecca steps out first. "This way, please."

She stops in front of a set of double-doors, knocks once, then opens one of the doors and ushers us inside. At first glance, it looks almost empty. But as Nathan and I step deeper into the room, I realize it's an office. What furnature exists is all white. Glass everywhere. The only splash of color is on the walls. Several vibrant paintings hang at even intervals, giving the room just a hint of warmth. It looks more like a museum than an office.

Grey is standing at the far end of the room, hands in his pockets, facing a window that runs the entire length of the wall-only it looks in on something, rather than outside. I'm not close enough to see what that something is.

"Thank you, Rebecca," Grey says, still facing away. "You may leave."

I catch the suggestion of a smile on Rebecca's lips before she turns and leaves the room.

When the door clicks shut, Nathan steps forward. "Grey," he says by way of greeting. "Let's get started. We have a few things to get through." He glances at his watch. "And I've got a meeting with Judge Corbin in forty minutes."

Grey turns toward us and pauses briefly, almost imperceptibly, before narrowing his eyes at me. I meet his gaze evenly, my heart thundering loudly against my ribs. He's too beautiful. I remember that now, from our first meeting. His sharp cheekbones and deep gray eyes are my kryptonite. And I know I'm staring, but he doesn't seem to notice, or care, so I don't bother looking away.

"She shouldn't be here," he growls. "I told you that over the phone."

That snaps me out of it. I blink. Is he fucking serious?

You don't belong in this world, Miss Steele. It's so fucking obvious.

My gaze slides to Nathan, who isn't looking at me. He never mentioned Grey's objections to my working on his case, and I wonder why. I wonder what Grey said about me.

Nathan shakes his head. "She's sharp." His tone is confident, matter-of-fact, every bit the lawyer. "I need her on this case. She's the only one who can handle it."

It's a lie and Nathan and I know it. There are half a dozen assistants in the office and every one of them is ten times more qualified than me. But Nathan's right. I am sharp. And despite what Grey thinks, I'm not naive.

Straightening, I pin Grey with a fuck you glare.

His eyes narrow again and a I feel a sliver of satisfaction, confident in Nathan's appraisal of me. After a long pause, Grey gestures to the meeting table. "Let's get this over with. I've got shit to do."

Grey sits first and Nathan takes a seat across from him. I slip into the chair next to Nathan, which is as far as I can get from Grey.

"It looks like they're going after attempted murder." Nathan opens his briefcase, and pulls out a mountain of papers. "We have a strong case for self defense, but considering your prior convictions, it's going to depend on our jury. Unless, of course, you want to plead. In that case, we're looking at five years."

Grey titled his head back and pushed out a breath. "It was self defense. There are half a dozen witnesses that can attest to it."

"The prosecutor on this case is a pitbull. He'll eviscerate those witnesses. If there's any reason-any reason at all-why they're not credible, he'll tear them apart. We need facts. Hard evidence that you weren't the aggressor that night."

"We have a dozen cameras inside the building. I'll have Taylor get you the security footage from that night."

"If we go to trial, you have to understand they're going to rip your life apart. They're going to search for anything that will give them an edge in court. You need to think hard about whether or not you want investigators sniffing around this place, Christian."

Grey looks away, the muscles in his jaw tightening. What the fuck is this place, I wonder? Now the curiosity is really gnawing at me. Whatever it is, it's not legal. I'm certain of that much. If it were, Grey wouldn't look so tormented.

"Let me think about it."

"Of course." Nathan pulls out a pen and a few documents and slides them across the table to Grey. "This is the attorney/client agreement. I need your signature on pages three and five."

Grey glances over the documents dispassionately, signs, then slides them back. Nathan hands them to me. "Ana, would you take these downstairs and ask one of the ladies at reception to make a copy?"

With a sharp nod, I take the papers and stand. Though I'm not looking at him, I can feel Grey's eyes on me. It's like a live wire brushing across my skin. The too familiar tingle creeps up my spine, and my cheeks flush hot.

I smooth my free hand down my skirt, then walk to the door. Just as I grasp the handle, Grey's voice reaches out to me. "Don't get lost, Miss Steele."

Without looking back, I open the door and walk out. As soon as I'm in in the hallway, standing outside the elevator, every muscle in my body un-clenches and I push out a relieved breath. Just being in Grey's presence has me on edge, hyper aware of the energy that crackles between us. Outside his office, I'm free of it. For a few minutes, at least.

On the ground floor, I walk the short distance to the reception desk, where I ask the redhead to make a copy of the signed agreement. As she ducks into a back room, I take the opportunity to look around.

Immediately to my left is a elegant staircase-the same one I'd watched countless people ascend just a half hour before. What's up there?

Quietly, I walk up the carpeted steps until I find myself on a small landing. In front of me are a set of huge mahogany doors with the words "The Red Room" etched into a discrete brass plate. Unconsciously, I step toward the doors and tug one open.

It's locked.

What? It's then that I notice the security card swipe on the right side of the door. I would need a security card to get into this room. A security card I obviously don't have. Would Grey give me one, I wonder? As much as he hates me, I'm guessing not.

I stand there for a few seconds, disappointed by my little adventure, when suddenly the door opens and a woman walks out. Quickly, I catch the door and slip inside.

When I look up, I'm standing in a large sitting area, like the lobby of a hotel. The style is lush and modern. Sleek, high-gloss marble floors juxtaposed against rich red fabrics and evoking artwork. The combination is absolutely stunning.

Lured by the artwork, I step deeper into the room.

"May I be of assistance, madam?"

A blond viking leans on the wall next to me-white button down, rolled up at the sleeves and black slacks. He's young and muscular with vibrant green eyes that pull me in instantly. He smiles, revealing a dimple in his right cheek.

"No, thank you. I'm just...exploring."

"What's your name?"

"Ana."

"Beautiful name. I'm Stefan." His smile takes on a more wicked feel. "First time at The Red Room?"

"As a matter of fact, it is."

"Well, allow me to show you around."

"No. Thank you, I actually have somewhere I need to be."

He ignores my weak protest and takes my hand, leading me down a short hallway lined with doors. Every room as a name: The Playroom, the Viewing Room, The Dungeon.

"What is this place?"

With a knowing smile, he tugs me forward and into the Viewing Room, leaving the door open. Even with the light from the hallway, it's dark inside and we're alone. It's set up like a theater with velvet gray sofas instead of individual chairs-all facing a window that looks into an adjoining room.

Curious, I step up to the window. The room beyond has three canopied beds arranged in a semicircle, surrounded by implements of every shape and variety-whips, chains, handcuffs, riding crops. The walls and linens are a deep red, and there are erotic paintings on the walls.

But what catches my eye is the woman kneeled in the center of the room. She's naked, in heels, her arms bent behind her, wrists cuffed to her ankles.

I stare at her, fascinated.

Suddenly, all the pieces come together.

This is a bondage club.

"It's a little early, most people are still at work. But come nightfall, this room will be filled with eager submissives. It our most popular room. We have two others just like it."

"What's she doing?"

Stefan laughs a little as though it should be obvious. "She's being a good sub. She's waiting for her dom to return."

I study her calm expression and her steady, even breathing. "What does being a submissive entail, exactly?"

"It depends on the dominant, but generally, it means complete and total obedience."

"So this place, these women, they all belong to Mr. Grey?"

"The men and women who live here belong to Mr. Grey. The others are members who have dominants or submissives of their own."

"So it's a brothel," I say simply. That's what Nathan must have meant earlier when he'd said Grey wouldn't want investigators snooping around.

"Yes, it's a brothel, a hotel, a bar, a danceclub. It's everything you need it to be. A place to indulge your darkest fantasies."

I look at Stefan. "And what about you? Do you work here?"

He lifts a brow. "It's hardly work when you love what you do."

I nod slowly, absorbing it all. "And Mr. Grey...is he a dominant or a submissive?"

"No idea. I've never seen him participate."

He owns a club that he doesn't enjoy? I find that hard to believe. Maybe he's just discreet about it. Though I suspect Grey is a man who doesn't give a damn what anyone else thinks. He says and does what he wants.

"What about you, Ana? Do you crave control or do you crave domination?"

My gaze slides back to the woman on the floor, waiting obediently for her dom to return. What would it be like to have that level of trust in someone? What would it be like to devote oneself utterly to the pleasure of another?

Swallowing, I tear my gaze away. "I have to go."

I have no idea how long I've been gone, but both Nathan and Grey are likely wondering where I've disappeared to. I'd better get back upstairs before they come looking for me.

Stefan brushes a strand of hair off my shoulder, his gaze fixed on my mouth. "I have a better idea. Let's go next door and find out what makes you weep with pleasure."

Wow, this guy is good, and I can't help but feel a tingle of curiosity. But I'm not taking the bait. No way. I shake my head. "I'm okay with not knowing, actually."

Suddenly I feel someone behind us, watching from the doorway.

"Thank you, Stefan." The hard baritone slices through me like a knife, and it feels like all the air has been siphoned from my lungs. We both turn slowly to find Grey leaning against the doorframe, his eyes dark and...amused? A shiver trips down my spine. "I'll take it from here."

There's a split second of surprised silence before Stefan replies.

"Yes, sir," he says with one last lingering look at me. "She's all yours."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Grey's gaze is fixed on me, and I feel like a rabbit in a snare. Caught, utterly defenseless.

"Miss Steele."

"I was just…" I clear my throat. "Taking a look around."

Leaning against the doorframe, his gaze flicks over me. "This isn't a place you want to get lost."

I look over his shoulder to where Stefan disappeared. "I had a very nice tour guide, until you scared him away."

He straightens. "Nathan said you arrived by bus. I have a car waiting outside to take you home."

"Actually, I'm not quite ready to go home, so if you'll excuse me…" I move to brush past him, but he doesn't budge.

"You're not staying."

I arch a brow, defiant. "I'm not leaving."

I _can't_ leave. Not now, when the mystery of Grey is just beginning to unravel. I'd be lying if I said my curiosity hasn't been piqued.

Grey is glaring at me. _No_ is apparently not a word he's acquainted with. I can practically seethe wheels turning in his head. Will he allow me to stay? Will he get one of his security guards to throw me out?

I wait for his decision, when a woman's voice interrupts us. It might be Rebecca, but she's standing out in the hallway and Grey is blocking my view. "Excuse me, Mr. Grey. Your six o'clock is here."

He doesn't look at her, his gaze is still fixed on me. "Cancel it."

"But he's already waiting-"

Grey turns abruptly, cutting her off. "Cancel it," he says again. "Something important has come up."

Her voice takes on a slightly panicked tone. "He's very insistent, and he's threatened to…"

"You should go," I supply.

Why is he so insistent I leave? What's he trying to hide?

He turns back to me. "Wait here. Don't move."

I smile sweetly. "I wouldn't dream of it."

The second he's out of sight, I make my way out to the lobby area. The space is filling out now, people spilling in from the main set of doors that I'd snuck through earlier. They were all headed in one direction, down a long corridor, then up another short set of stairs.

I follow and find myself in the middle of a dance club. It's dark, but colored lights pulse in time with the music. And though the space is still being filled, bodies are pressed together, moving in rhythm with the beat.

I head straight for the bar and order my favorite drink, a moscow mule. I left my purse upstairs, but I give the bartender my name and he starts a tab.

"You're new here," a voice says. I take a sip from my drink and turn. The man beside me is muscular, dark-haired and handsome in a sweet, boyish kind of way.

I smile. "I'm actually just visiting."

He signals to the bartender, who pours the man a whiskey and slid it to him. He takes a sip. "Not staying long," he repeats. "That sounds like a challenge to me."

I take another sip. I hardly ever drink, so I'm already feeling a little lightheaded.

"It's not a challenge," I laugh. "I have work tomorrow." And I'm responsible to a fault. In highschool, I never ditched, never snuck out at night. I've always done the right thing, been exactly where I was supposed to be.

Until tonight.

He takes in my business clothes and smiles. "You look very buttoned up for a dance club."

I take another sip of my drink. It's almost completely gone, so I drain it and place the hammered copper mug back on the bar. The bartender slides me another one without my even asking. _What service_ , I muse, taking another sip through the tiny stir straw.

I stare down at my white button up blouse, and flick open the first button. Then the second and third until the tops of my white lacy bra are showing.

"Much better," he growls. "My name is Ros."

"Ana," I reply, taking another fortifying sip.

The side of his mouth quirks in the most adorable way. "I have a feeling you're an untouchable."

"An untouchable," I laugh. "What's that?"

I follow his gaze across the bar to where Grey is standing, staring at us. "He's been staring at you, and I get the uneasy feeling he's already staked his claim."

Another long sip of my drink and shake my head. "Um, no. no. You're reading this situation-" I make a wide, circular motions with my hands, "completely wrong. He actually hates me. In fact, he has a car waiting outside, ready to take me home."

He laughs a little. "Then why are you still here?"

"Because I declined to leave."

He raises a dark brow. "You told Christian Grey _no_?" He shakes his head. "You really are new here."

I purse my lips. None of this makes any sense to me. "Does everyone just do whatever he says?"

"Pretty much."

I shrug one shoulder and look toward the dancefloor.

God, is it _hot_ in here? I bring my fingers up to my temple, and they come away damp. The air feels thick, heavy in my lungs.

Ros takes my drink and places it on the bar, then offers his hand. "Then fuck him. Let's dance."

"That sounds ahhhhh-mazing." As I step away from the bar, the room around me spins and I falter a little.

"Whoa," Ros says, grabbing me by the elbow. "Careful. You okay?"

"I'm good, thanks." I stand straight and steady to prove my point.

He smiles, takes my hand and we wend our way out to the middle of the dancefloor. The music is so loud, I can't hear myself think-which is probably a good thing, actually. The people rubbing up against me are barely clothed, some wearing as little as leather pantie sets, or assless chaps. But I don't care. For the first time, I feel completely free as I move my body to the chaotic rhythm of the music.

Ros moves in time behind me, his large hands on my hips, tugging me against his pelvis. It should feel weird, being this close to a stranger. But here, it feels completely natural. Like the rules of the outside world don't apply here.

I'm taking it all in, loving the way my body moves instinctively to the music, when I feel a large hand grip my elbow. I turn to see Grey staring down at me.

Grey. Of course.

He pulls me toward the edge of the crowd, back to the bar.

"Hey," I say, trying to tug my arm out of his iron hold. He doesn't hear me, or if he does, he doesn't show it. Not even a _hint_ of acknowledgment. So rude.

When we get to the bar, he releases me and hands me a glass of ice water. "I told you not to move."

Emboldened by the vodka, I shake my head and shove him in the shoulder. "Why are you being like this?"

"Like what exactly?"

"So _mean_."

He pushes a breath out and looks toward the dance floor. "Many of the men here are masochists and they're eying you like prey."

My legs feel a little unsteady, so I plop down on the stool. I tilt my chin up so I can see his beautiful gray eyes-though in the dark club, they look almost black. "Isn't that also how _you_ look at me?"

I pause a moment, wondering if I'd just said that outloud. Then I decide I must have, because the look on his face shifts quickly from annoyed to angry. I reach out and brush a finger down the bridge of his nose, then over his lips. "You are _so_ beautiful, I think it must be illegal." My finger traces the line of his strong jaw. The hint of stumble scrapes against my fingertip. "Why are you always so angry at me?"

He grabs my hand and moves it away from his face. "I'm not angry, Miss Steele. I'm cautious. You don't know what you're getting yourself into by being here and I'd rather you not tempt the devil."

Tempt the devil. That's _exactly_ what I wanted to do.

My gaze darts to the bartender, and I try to catch his eye, but he's too busy. He doesn't see me, so I turn to Grey. "Will you order me a moscow mule? I had one, but I left it…"

He places the water in front of me. "Drink some water first."

I narrow my eyes at him. "You are sooo bossy, do you know that?"

"Drink it." Then he adds, "Please."

He looks concerned, so I humor him by taking a small sip. "Happy?"

"Not quite."

With a sigh, I take a long pull from the glass, just to shut him up. The cold water makes my head hurt, but I manage to finish off half the glass. I place it back down on the bar, but I misjudge and the glass grazes the lip, then falls and shatters on cement floor below my feet. I don't even hear it. I just see it in slow motion, watching as the ice and clear liquid dance in the air a moment before they fall to the ground.

I blink. A strange sort of heaviness has settled around my temples, and my eyes sting. Maybe I should go find the bathroom and re-group? I slide off the stool and stand, but the second my feet hit the ground, my legs give way.

With lightning reflexes, Grey swoops in and catches me in his arms. Our bodies are pressed together, my chest against his hard abs. The heavy thud of his heart vibrates against me, and I try hard to focus on it.

"Easy," Grey says, his warm breath fanning across my cheek.

This all-consuming weakness isn't normal. Panic starts to kick in and I look up to ask him what's happening to me. But before I can get out a single word, darkness closes in on me and I can't say anything at all.


End file.
